


Bridge

by openhearts



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:46:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2711147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openhearts/pseuds/openhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the writers were set on taking 5B in a dark direction by not having Beth as that symbol of purity and hope that she has been in previous seasons, and if they were set on a senseless death during that prisoner exchange, this is how it could have happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bridge

“It’s not okay,” she says quietly, her voice narrow and cold like the blade of a knife.  She’s stepping past Rick blindly, reaching for Noah, when two arms lock around her and drag her back.

“No.  Beth?  No.”  It’s Rick’s voice in her ear, his arms caging her back, and she twists and pushes at him, digging her nails into his arm when he doesn’t let up.

 

“Let me say goodbye,” she grits out, glaring up at him, but she gives herself away when her eyes flick over to take stock of where Dawn is standing and the hand already gripping her pistol.  When she looks back she knows Rick sees it.  Knows he can see plainly the frantic desperation all over her face and the reckless half-formed plans of attack tingling through her fingers.  She starts to tremble from the effort of pushing back against his arms and his chest, trying to wrest herself away from him.

 

“Beth,” Daryl says from beside them.  His voice would sound to anyone else deadened and efficient, but Beth can hear the pleading tugging up the bassline of his usual gravelly tone and it knocks some of the fight out of her.

 

She wants to fight.  Wants to charge Dawn and drag Noah back with her, to her family.  Her family.  She looks up and locks eyes with Noah’s.  He gives her a grimacing half-smile.  She drops one arm down, letting it hang at her side, and the scissors clatter to the floor.  Dawn has her gun pulled in a flash, leveling her aim at Beth’s chest and Daryl’s crossbow flashes up at the same time, trained on Dawn’s temple.

 

Beth tilts her head slightly as she studies Dawn, and she relaxes fully, going almost limp in Rick’s arms until his grip on her eases by degrees, hands sliding down her arms as she steps slowly away from him.  She can feel him and Daryl tensing, easing forward along with her, and the click of Rick’s holster as he rests his hand on his python.  She looks up at Noah, wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight, closing her eyes and shutting out everything else.  

 

“Go with them,” he says.  “I’ll be alright here.”

 

“It’s not fair,” she whispers.

 

“You got me out.  I’m getting you out.  Go.”

 

She feels him pulling back, feels Rick’s hands close around her arms to pull her away, and she makes herself watch Noah as she steps backwards with Rick, past Daryl as he slowly lowers his bow and backs up along with them.

 

They’ve just turned to head back through the doors, Beth trudging along with hands pressing her forward on her shoulders and back - Rick, Daryl, Carol, all urging her on with them - when they hear the shot.  

 

Beth turns in time to see Noah drop, a splatter of blood on the wall behind him.  It all happens at a tenth the speed in Beth’s mind; Noah’s head cracking against the waxed floor, the curl of Dawn’s lip and her slight exhale of accomplishment, and the ragged red-taped handle of the machete hanging on Rick’s belt biting into Beth’s palm as her fist closes around it and she runs.  

 

She’s a streak of yellow, a blur of blade and hair and an echoing scream, flying forward and slashing once and then again at Dawn’s neck.  

 

Joan, Noah.  

 

Dawn’s gun falls to the floor, her knees hit, and Beth braces her limp body by one shoulder and strikes three more times.  

 

Trevitt.  Gorman.  O'Donnell.

 

There’s a small gurgle of sound from Dawn’s open throat as it spills and spurts over Beth’s boots, and it’s the only sound in the hallway for a moment until Beth lets go of Dawn’s shoulder and Dawn’s body slumps to the floor, her cheek hitting the linoleum with a crunching smack.  There’s a quiet wave of sickness in Beth’s gut, a tiny protest against the adrenaline flooding her veins, the rush of her own blood coursing in her ears as she steps back and her eyes finally lift to the cops and wards watching dumbfounded.  She raises her chin at them, eyes dry.  

 

She turns her back on them and looks towards her family, starting to feel her breath again, stopped by the wall of their stares.  They look small, the group of them, huddled and still and waiting.  She starts towards them, the machete swinging languidly at her side, and feels them click into action, stiffening and bringing their weapons up at the guns that must be pointing at her back.

 

“Hold your fire,” says Lacey, and there’s the smack of shoes scuffing the floor and the easing creak of hands around rubber grips.  

 

Beth holds the machete out to Rick when she reaches him, stares back at him as his familiar blazing eyes fall to the drops of blood rolling down her throat.  

 

“Come on,” she murmurs when his hand closes around the machete handle and he stays rooted to the floor.

 

She turns to Daryl and puts a hand on his arm, presses gently to get him to lower the bow.  His flinch isn’t quick or jerky but she feels it in him as he turns, lets her hand fall from his arm, and starts walking away.  She passes by the rest of the group, pushes open the doors, and leads the way out.

 _____


End file.
